The Good Soldier
by MB234
Summary: Hey readers,this is a new fic I'm working on centered around Sam/Gadreel during season 9 both while Sam is possessed by Gadreel and after. An OC falls for Gadreel (and Sam) while he is possessing Sam, and maybe Sam falling for her too, complexity, drama, feels, etc. . I wanna draw out this fic & create a long series, but I need feedback! Please let me know what you think, comment!
1. Rock and a Hard Place

_**Authors Notes: Hey readers! This is a new fic I'm working on centered around Sam/Gadreel during season 9 both while Sam is possessed by Gadreel and after. I've been a Supernatural fan since the beginning of the show and I've wanted to write a good fic forever! The idea of an OC falling for Gadreel while he is possessing Sam, and possibly Sam falling for her a little bit too, intrigues me a lot because of the complexity of the situation. I wanna draw out this fic and create a long series. If you guys like this starter chapter please comment and follow and let me know! Feedback is greatly appreciated!**_

_Sam_

New Orleans, Louisiana

The damp, rancid air felt heavy on Sam's skin as he trudged through the darkened sewer tunnels. The semi-darkness made avoiding the puddles of unnamable filth a challenge, but hours of traversing the tunnels made his eyes accustomed to the filmy darkness. Dean walked a cautious few paces ahead of him, gun up and ready to shoot anything that got in their way.

The shifter they were hunting was a particularly nasty one, with a large victim list that surpassed any other shifter they'd ever hunted. This son of a bitch needed to be stopped. Now.

In addition to the three missing girls that had originally caught their attention, the shifter had abducted another girl in the time they had come to town. It hadn't taken them long to pick up on the sewer system underlying the sites of the abductions, and even less time to break into the sewer and find traces of the shifter currently squatting there.

As they rounded a corner, Sam fought to keep the gag inducing stench out of his nose. His body tensed, anticipating an attack any second. As his eyes adjusted to the new level of light, due to several torches burning in the large chamber, it seemed that they had found what looked like the main quarters of the shifter, complete with a dirty looking bed, even more piles of shifter goo, and several tied up females.

"Looks like those are our missing girls" Dean said as he scanned the darkened chamber.

"Yeah, all is accounted for, except the shifter," Sam replied, "Where is it?"

"Hell if I know" Dean said right before he stepped into a pile of goo. Sam smirked as Dean vigorously scraped his shoe and spouted curses.

As Dean scraped the last of the goo, Sam rushed to help the girls get untied. They were bound well and tightly, with their wrists showing signs of rope burn and struggling. In addition they were all unconscious, or seemed to be, some with what looked like minor lacerations, others with more serious injuries. The last girl Sam untied, a girl with light brown hair and a serious looking head wound moaned in pain as the ropes around her hands and legs were loosened. Her eyes fluttered open briefly and Sam saw they were the bright green color of leaves in the sunlight. She seemed to focus on Sam for a minute before focusing over his shoulder to the area behind him. Her eyes widened and as Sam whirled around he saw the shifter, still in the form of the last girl, the one with the green eyes currently behind him, fighting a small brunette female.

Sam felt his face move in shock before locking eyes with Dean. They watched, and as the two figures wrestled each other Sam noticed they looked very much alike. Looking back at the woman he just untied he realized that they must be related, sisters even. Dean carefully gathered the girls, all awake now, and helped them around the corner and towards the exit.

The shifter, angry that its prey was getting away, fought even harder against the small brunette female, redoubling its efforts to take her down. Focusing his attention back on the shifter and the mysterious female fighting the monster, Sam moved behind the shifter. With its attention on the woman attacking it, it barely noticed him. Their eyes met briefly and she gave a tiny nod in acknowledgment. In a quick movement Sam looped his arms around the shifters body and held it tight, and seconds later the woman sank her silver blade into the shifters heart.

"That's for trying to kill my sister you piece of shit" the woman rasped out in a smooth whiskey voice, her face a mask of contempt as she twisted the knife. The shifter collapsed to the ground, its eyes glazed and body unmoving.

Her breath was coming fast and shallow, her chest heaving slightly. Sam surveyed her, she was tiny, no taller than 5'2, with deeply tanned skin marked with several visible tattoos and long free flowing dark brown hair that whipped around her face and curled down her back, highlighted with streaks of golden brown. Her eyes glinted in the low light like two chips of amber. She wore a black tank top, tight fitting black jeans and scuffed black combat boots. Around her hips was a worn leather belt, with a strap for the knife that she held in her hand, a knife which still dripped with the shifters blood. Her fingers were adorned with multiple silver rings and her wrists were looped with thin bracelets, and around her neck was a gleaming white crystal on a black cord. Multiple studs dotted her ears.

All in all she was a hottie. Slowly her eyes rose and met Sam's, and as they locked eyes he felt his heart pound in his chest at the feral look in her eyes. Beneath the naked anger there was pain, deep rooted pain. Something inside of him stirred, a feeling, a presence, something he was not completely familiar with. Lately, with all of his mysterious time gaps and unexplained blackouts he had begun to suspect that there was something that Dean wasn't telling him. Something was off inside of himself, he just couldn't tell what. If he wasn't starting to feel healthy again he would have looked into what Dean was keeping from him. The strange feeling that arose when he looked into this womans eyes further confirmed his suspicions, but right now, with her strange beautiful face filling his vision, he was glad for the distraction.

"What's your name?" Sam asked, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Magdalena", she replied, "if you can't pronounce that call me Daleney. Who are you?" she asked in that raspy voice, tilting her head slightly as she surveyed him.

Daleney- Sam sounded the name out in his head- it was a beautiful name. "Sam" he replied, leaning down to the lifeless shifter body and dislodging the blade from its chest. He offered it to her hilt first, and she took it, her fingers briefly brushing his before she wiped it off and slipped it into the holder on her belt.

"Thanks" she said with a small smile, before Sam continued, "Me and my brother Dean hunt shifter, among other nasty things. Hunting…runs in our family"

She nodded, shaking almost unperceivably, as she wiped the knife off on a cloth in her pocket, not seeming even a little bit surprised by this revelation "Where are you taking my sister and the other girls?" she asked.

So it was her sister, Sam mused, they were both beautiful. "My brother is taking them up to the surface, we need to get them to a hospital, and hopefully they'll be alright" Sam replied as they walked towards the surface to meet up with Dean. "Their injuries didn't seem so bad far away, but who knows what that shifter did to them. Your sister-" Sam paused for a name to be given.

"Rebekah" She absently supplied.

"Rebekah, could have sustained internal or covered injuries that we didn't see. We just have to get them proper medical care" Sam realized he was walking fast, his large strides covering more ground faster than he suspected she could walk, however she kept up with him, listening to him and nodding.

"Yeah I've known about hunters, but I don't cross paths with many of you" she replied. "My father was a hunter but he died on a hunt shortly before I was born. My mother dabbled in white magic, had ties to a coven here in New Orleans, strictly white magic, I promise" she hastened to add when she noticed Sam starting to frown, "With my mom gone, it's just me and my sister here. I work double shifts at a small bar in the warehouse district of New Orleans to pay my rent, and run a voodoo shop on the side, which my sister and I work in, but we're the only family we have left, so we're close. We know all about the more…hidden side of this world. When my sister went missing it didn't take long for me to figure out that it wasn't something natural"

"White magic?" Sam asked, "I thought witches learned their skills by selling their souls to demons"

"Well that's the easiest way to learn magic," she replied, "kind of a back door if you will, but there are other, more time consuming ways of practicing witchcraft that don't require you sell your soul. Instead of calling upon the power of a demon for your powers, you can call upon nature to fuel your magicks. It's much healthier" Daleney said with a smirk.

Sam smiled, a genuine smile, and realized he liked her sense of humor.

As they reached the stairs that lead to the porthole Sam and Dean had come down in, Dean was waiting for them, leaning up against the iron rungs that led up to the surface.

"The girls are already topside" Dean said to them as they approached, his eyes traveling up and down Daleney's body, and Sam didn't miss the appreciative gleam in his eye as he scanned her. Apparently neither did she, as she huffed and muttered, "Take a picture, it'll last longer" as she breezed past him, moving to the other side of the stairs.

While Sam chuckled quietly, something moved behind her in the shadows. Before Sam or Dean's reflexes could kick in, a second shifter, this one in the form of another one of the captive girls, caught Magdalena by the neck from behind, trapping her hands behind her back, and scraped he knife down her cheek, drawing a fine pearl of blood along the freshly opened cut. Fear flashed briefly in her features, before anger set in. Her muscles locked into place, and her eyes darted between both Sam and Dean.

The shifter placed the knife around her abdomen and plunged it into her side, and she let out at small cry. As the shifter opened its mouth to speak, and Daleney's noise of pain echoed through the tunnel something arose in Sam, a force he couldn't control, no matter how he tried to suppress it; the force was stronger than him. With her cry ringing in his head, Sam's mind was sent reeling, and as he struggled uselessly against the force the last of his strength was abruptly trampled and his world went dark.

_Gadreel_

Usually he wouldn't surface from the corners of Sam's mind but for the utmost of emergencies, but something called him forward. Something about this new female caught and held his attention; he saw the pain plain in her face when she had spoken to his current vessel. Pain he had felt register on his own countenance innumerable times before. Through the eyes of Sam Winchester he had seen many humans, both male and female, however, from his shrouded post this female glowed in his clouded vision like a warm yellow light. He searched his new human recollections and discovered that his previous vessel had memories of this female human; memories that made Gadreel yearn to, and finally, take control. He felt his seraphic power flood through Sam's limbs and he briefly reveled in the strength he felt coursing through this vessels muscles and ligaments. Both this and his previous vessel had been strong men, and in this situation he was quite glad of it. He felt his vessels eyes glow as his grace fully filled this body; felt his grace center on the optic nerve and ocular perception apparatus, and his vision snapped sharply into place; with this Gadreel could fully see the predicament at hand.

Acting fast, momentarily ignoring the human man, woman and shifters looks, Gadreel pressed his fingers to the shifters head and proceeded to smite him before the slightly gaped mouthed young woman, a strange light briefly glowing bright from the shifters eyes and a faint burning smell emitting from the now deceased monster once it crumpled to the floor. Once that deed was done he turned to the woman, this Magdalena, and without thought, unable to stop himself, he reached out and briefly brushed his fingertips down one of her finely wrought cheek bones.

The action left him wholly stunned and inadequately embarrassed; and yet his fingertips nearly seared white hot from the contact. Something struck him, instinct maybe, dare he say even impulse, and he looked deep into her bright amber eyes and spoke, low and strong, "I will see you again A Aoveae, A Aishh. A Aboapri"

He saw surprise- and was that recognition- flash in her eyes before she winced and clutched at her injured side. Her fingers were quickly stained red from the blood flowing from her wound. Her eyes immediately locked on his, searching his gaze for aid. Her knees buckled and he caught her easily in his arms as she promptly fainted with a flutter of eyelids and a huff of breath. He fully intended to see her delivered into the mobile vehicle, the Chevrolet Impala, that these humans drove. Thankfully this time Dean didn't protest and as he easily ascended the stairs and strode to the vehicle. Dean opened the passengers door Gadreel gently settled her into the seat.

He had spoken to her in the ancient Enochian tongue of his brothers and sisters. He had called her his Star, his Woman. Why had he said that to her? Saying those words to her had felt like a knee jerk reaction to stimulus. Was that what she was to him, his Star, his Woman? Had she understood him? By God his fingers still tingled from where they had touched her bare skin. He must think on this, on what it meant. He had never felt this kind of connection with a human. He must speak with one of his brothers, and soon. He must figure this out, and he would, but for now, with an almost apologetic look cast at the human Dean Winchester, slightly shaken, but confident, he retreated into the darkness of Sam Winchesters mind. Let the human, Dean, sort out an explanation for how the events of the past 5 minutes had transpired, Gadreel had his own questions to ponder.

_Daleney_

Her world was narrowed down to one point of consciousness, one sensation that dominated everything else. Pain. Pain in her muscles, in her limbs, pain blooming sharply in her abdomen, throbbing the strongest in her side. Why did her side hurt so much? Her mind struggled to dredge up an answer through a haze of red tinged memories.

She was tracking something, something very, very important. _Think! _She urged herself; the shifter! Yes that was it, she was tracking the shifter that took her sister, and she was doing a pretty damn good job considering she hadn't hunted anything in her life until very recently. It wasn't that hard actually looking, searching street corners and sewer systems, however distinguishing the facts from the fiction about shifters, now that was hard. Without the help of some of her moms old friends she wouldn't have ever figured out what weapons she needed, or where to start looking.

Suddenly everything came back to her in a rush; sneaking through the tunnels of the New Orleans to find where the monster was hiding, spotting her sister tied up with the other missing women, fighting the thing itself, meeting a very tall hunter named Sam and his brother Dean. She remembered a second shifter sneaking up behind her, it had a knife-that explained her side-and hadn't hesitated to use it, and then Sam…his eyes! They had glowed white, and then it was like a different person was talking to her, someone that had a very possessive look in his eye as he'd killed the shifter with one touch. And those words, she knew the words he'd spoken to her, she just couldn't place them. One of her mothers magic grimoire's might tell her what kind of a thing could do that, though she didn't hold out much hope.

Haunted by those glowing white eyes, Daleney slowly drifted to full consciousness to the sound of car tires speeding across asphalt and the sight of street lights dancing across the inside roof of a car. She was stretched out in what must be the back seat of Sam and Dean's car. The cut in her side felt bandaged up and clean, though she could still feel the dried blood crusted on her face. Where the hell were these boys taking her? With her side still hurting like a bitch, she struggled to turn her head without disturbing her wound. Once she moved her head a bit she saw Dean in driver's seat, talking very agitatedly with Sam, who rode shotgun.

"Sammy I told you, the shifter knocked you out cold after it grabbed the hot hunter chick. We moved towards it and it knocked you pretty good, right before I ganked it. I'm not surprised you don't remember it man, how many concussions do you think we've gotten over the years cause of the countless times our gourds have been knocked against walls by monsters?"

She saw Sam's face remain unconvinced though he just muttered a simple, "Yeah I guess", in response. Dean clenched his fists harder on the steering wheel and went on talking, "The girls the shifter grabbed are being driven by EMT's to the nearest hospital right now, but the hunter girl, I think we can patch her up without involving the local authorities-"

Daleney saw the same white-blue light she'd seen earlier flash from Sam's face and abruptly a voice very different from Sam's interrupted Dean mid-statement, "I can heal the woman. Take her to the bunker immediately, I will heal her there. It is a long drive and we must hurry."

Dean seemed momentarily shocked, and then very annoyed, "Shouldn't you be focusing on healing Sam? And I clearly remember you saying you couldn't keep healing people; I thought the thing with healing Charlie was just a one-time deal"

The voice that wasn't Sam said, "Your brother is healing well, do not worry about that. As for the woman…" there was a pause and Daleney saw Sam's brow furrow in an expression that was almost confused, "This is different. I will save my strength while we travel. No more questions now, just drive" And with another flash of light the voice was gone.

"Dean she has a name, and you should call her by it," Sam's voice said, picking up the conversation as if it hadn't been interrupted. Shock radiated through Daleney's mind once more as she struggled to make sense of what she had seen. She felt her consciousness slipping away again as she tried desperately to stay awake, to hear the rest of the conversation, but eventually the darkness overtook her, and as it washed through her she was almost grateful for the shadows overtaking her.

_**So guys, there we have it! The first chapter! I worked really hard on this, and I aim to please. Let me know what you all thought and if you want more! Please and thank you! Also, please let me know if everyone mentioned was in character and acting as they would. Thanks!**_

_**Also the words in this chapter are actual Enochian, I love the language and it's use in the show. Here are the translations:**_

_**Aoveae –star**_

_**Aishh – woman**_

_**(ar-ee-seh-heh)**_

_**A Aboapri – I serve you**_


	2. Dream A Little Dream Of Me

**Authors Note: Hey guys! Here's chapter 2, hope you like it! follow/favorite if you do, comment and let me know your thoughts, your feedback is greatly appreciated! Thanks, and enjoy!**

* * *

Gadreel

The Bunker; Lebanon, Kansas

As soon as Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester, his vessel, had settled the woman into one of the many rooms in this place, the Bunker, and Dean had left to do what he would with his time, Gadreel emerged from the corners of Sam's consciousness. Feeling his angelic power flood through Sam Winchesters body for the second time that night, white light briefly lit up the room as he came to the forefront of Sam's mind. Gadreel slowly walked over to the woman- to Daleney's -sleeping form, watching her countenance carefully for signs of wakefulness. Her features were beautiful, regal even. A soft jawline and elegant cheekbones framed her almond shaped eyes, which he knew were hued a vibrant amber, and straight nose, which was dotted with numerous almost unperceivable freckles. Her pink lips parted gently as she breathed softly. Her messy dark brown hair that curled around her face and onto the pillow upon which her head rested looked so soft, as if inviting him to entangle his fingers in it and feel just how giving it would be to his touch.

Internally shaking himself at getting lost in this human again, he tore his gaze away from her face and focused on her bloodstained torso. He gently rolled her soaked tank top up to fully assess the state of her laceration. Her golden tan skin was marred by large patches of dried crusted blood; several small scarlet trickles still oozed from the wound. It was worse than he had originally assumed. The cut was not wide, but it was deep, having broken her rib, which bruised the skin above it and caused slight internal bleeding. To properly heal her injuries and conserve his strength he would have to slowly heal her over time, in stages. For now he would heal the broken rib, internal bleeding and as much bruising as he could, and though it would hurt less it wouldn't eliminate all of her pain.

He brushed his fingertips down her side, a faint glow radiating in the room as the bruises turned from a deep purple, to a sickly greenish yellow, and then faded away altogether. His brow wrinkled slightly as he assessed his strength, and finding it adequate, he began healing her rib. It mended quickly, and healed nicely, but the warmth of Gadreel's healing power radiating through her body awoke her. She stirred, her lips parting in a gentle breath, her eyes opening slowly.

Gadreel stepped back, unsure of how to proceed. His first instinct was to retreat back into Sam's mind, but he realized he very much wanted to hear her voice, perhaps even speak to her. Her eyes darted around the room, clouded with pain, before locking to his gaze. Gadreel felt his breath hitch involuntarily; her eyes were so piercing, so warm.

"Am I dreaming?" she asked softly, scooting herself back to look up at him, her face so sweet and hopeful, upturned to look into his eyes.

His felt his face heat up as an unfamiliar feeling flooded through him. He did not want to lie, but he must heal himself if he was going to heal Sam Winchester and her. He stepped forward cautiously, leaning down to get closer to her.

"You're Sam….but you're not Sam," she rasped in a smooth gravelly tone. It was not a question, just a statement. There was no judgement in her voice, only curiosity and, dare he say, kindness.

Gadreel paused before speaking "Yes," he replied, sitting cautiously on the edge of the bed, "you are dreaming Magdalena" To his surprise, she smiled warmly at him, the smile lighting her face up.

"It's a good dream then," she replied, running her hand down the side of her torso, wincing before examining her wound, undoubtedly surprised by the lack of pain.

"I healed you," he said softly, meeting her eyes "Not fully; I am not yet strong enough, but sufficiently so that the pain will be bearable"

Her eyes went hazy and she swayed slightly, and Gadreel he knew her consciousness was fading again. He slid a hand up her neck and behind her head to keep it from smacking the headboard if she fainted abruptly. As his hand touched her skin he felt sharp, delicious tingles erupt in his flesh, moving through his body. He closed his eyes against the onslaught, and when he snapped them open again his breathing was slightly more labored.

"Thank you," she breathed out, and Gadreel inched his face closer to hers, as if being closer to her would help, fruitlessly studying her face for answers as to why this human caused such a dramatic reaction within him. "Come back to visit me?" She asked softly, her eyes drooping.

"Yes, I will come back to you" Gadreel replied automatically, unthinkingly.

Unable to stop himself he ran the backs of his fingers over her cheekbone and down her jawline. She leaned into his touch and he felt something well inside of him that he hadn't felt for thousands of years. "Sleep now" he murmured, sending power out through his fingers to drape her in slumber.

Almost instantly her eyes fell and she lost consciousness again. She looked so peaceful, so calm. He didn't want to leave, but he couldn't stay; there was much work to be done. Though he tried viciously to deny it, her presence made him feel, made him question as he hadn't in a very long time. And possibly most dangerous of all, what welled inside of him strongest was the one thing that could spell disaster for both himself and all those around him.

She made him feel, for the first time in countless millennia, hope.

Sam

Sam ran his hands through his long brown hair, briefly closing his eyes as a wave of exhaustion fell over him. The hunt today had really drained him, and as much as he tried to hide it from Dean, he knew, and felt, that he wasn't back up to speed yet. He just wanted to get back into the flow of things, of hunting, and for Dean to stop looking at him like he was gonna break apart any second. He sighed, running a hand over his weary face and into his hair, pushing it back from his eyes, and sank down into a chair next to the bed that he and Dean had settled Daleney into, allotting her one of the bunkers numerous vacant rooms to stay in. Her room was along the same hallway as his and Dean's rooms, located between the brothers rooms but situated slightly closer to Sam's. He wasn't exactly sure why he'd wanted to do that, but it had felt more right than anything had in a while, even more than he himself had, so he didn't think on it too much.

Daleney was fast asleep, curled onto her uninjured side, her features peaceful and calm. Careful to be quiet, Sam opened the first aid kit Dean had placed on her night stand, before going out on a beer run, and removed a few alcohol swabbing pads to clean her wound and fresh gauze to bandage it. He peeled her shirt up to where the shifter had stabbed her, wincing at the large patches of dried blood marring her golden tan skin. He gently peeled off the makeshift bandage Dean had put on earlier, when they'd run out of first aid supplies on the road, and surveyed her wound.

It was a dark line of red, stark against the flat, toned planes of her torso. Thankfully it wasn't too deep, no stiches needed, but it was bleeding profusely, having severed a line of muscle running horizontally along her ribs. She was lucky the cut was so shallow; it was unusual for a stab wound to not reach past the wall of muscle under the skin, especially with a torso wound. He had seen countless ribs serrated and even broken by stab wounds. Hell he'd felt a few ribs break in the large number of stab wounds he himself had received. She was either lucky, or had someone upstairs on her side. Sam's lips twitched caustically as he reminded himself there was no one left upstairs. He pushed those thoughts aside to focus on patching her up; this wound wouldn't heal on its own. Sam prepped the alcohol swab and gently dabbed it onto the cut, knowing it would smart like hell if she were awake.

Sure enough, after a few seconds of swabbing Daleney's eyes flew open and with a hiss of pain she attempted to sit up, dragging herself back towards the headboard, while her eyes darted around the room in confused panic. "Where am I, what is this place?" she asked in a low voice.

Sam dropped the swab and as he put his hands up to show that he meant no harm, he replied, "Daleney its okay, you're safe, it's me Sam, remember? You're at the bunker, the place where me and my brother live. We brought you here so you could heal, with no cops poking around to ask questions. We figured one member of your family in the hospital is enough to raise suspicion, two in one night would definitely get you an unwelcome investigation"

Seemingly satisfied with his reply, but still cautious, she nodded and relaxed a small measure and scooted forward again, placing her torso under Sam's hands. The corner of his mouth twitched as a brief surge of warmth coiled in his chest, a warmth, a hope, he quickly tried to suppress. Better he didn't get his expectations up. People around him usually ended up dead, or worse; he'd learned that lesson over and over, a lesson which was always taught the hard way.

And yet…as she allowed him to continue bandaging her, her skin felt warm to his touch and impossibly soft under his fingers. He felt her pulse fluttering through her veins, and as his eyes met her bright amber ones he felt a heat of a very different kind burn through him.

"How bad is the damage?" she asked, surveying his face carefully, as if looking for something.

"Well, the up side is that it could've been worse, the down side is that you might be sore for awhile" Sam said as he unwrapped a fresh alcohol swab. Before he continued cleaning her wound he searched her amber eyed gaze, "This may sting", he murmured apologetically before pressing the swab into the cut. Sam winced for her, since he knew it must burn like hell, but to her credit her only visible responses were her breath hitching in her throat and her jaw clenching as pain undoubtedly ripped through her.

"At least it's not a splash of whiskey, right" he said with a strained smile, trying feebly to make her feel better.

Her jaw unclenched slightly and Sam took that as progress, "I take it you know from experience" she said in a slightly strained voice. Sam felt his brow wrinkle with the weight of unpleasant memories, "Yeah," he murmured, clearing his throat, "a lot of motel room stitch up sessions." He paused, remembering all the times Dean had sewn him up, and he had sewn Dean up; remembering the pain of stitching up deep cuts with no anesthesia, of joints being popped back into their respective sockets without warning.

Clearing his throat and pushing those memories out of his mind, Sam sneaked a peak at her, glad to see her face soften a bit. "Almost done," he said, unwrapping a fresh pad of gauze and pressing it to the wound, securing it with tape. He tried to not let his fingers linger on her warm skin as he pressed down on the tape, ensuring that it was bandaged tightly.

"All done," Sam said, drawing his gaze away from her stomach to meet her eyes. She met his eyes with a warm smile, but she seemed weary, probably from blood loss, but also from something else he was sure had reflected in his own countenance; pain, soul deep pain.

"Was that your first kill?" Sam asked softly, suspecting that that was what was weighing on her.

She looked down at her arms folded in her lap, absently tracing the elegant cursive script tattooed on the inside of her left wrist, but Sam saw the wet glisten of tears starting to form in her eyes as she replied, "Yeah," she paused to clear her throat before continuing, "I guess driving a knife through the heart of something that looks like your sister can really take a toll on a person. I bet there's no therapy you can get for that kind of mental scarring" She said with a dark laugh.

"Hey, it's okay," Sam said, "my first hunt was traumatic, to say the least. I still have nightmares about it and it was a very long time ago" Sam paused, remembering how his hands shook as he tried to keep his hold on the shot gun he held in his small hands, sweat dripping down his neck and pooling on his palms. He had been so determined to not disappoint his father John, to make him proud, but his first kill had always sat wrong with him. Perhaps because some small part of him he knew it would only be the first drops of the oceans of blood that would end up on his hands.

The feeling of Daleney's small, slender fingers brushing over the back of his hand broke him out of his reverie. As she interlaced her fingers with his, meeting his eyes with a small smile, she said, "Then I guess we're both messed up," her smile widened a bit, "but at least we're not alone"

Sam allowed a small measure of promise to blossom in his chest at her words. No he was not alone, not anymore. And even if it didn't last, he was damn sure he was grateful for it now. He had a foreboding feeling he might need someone to lean on. But he had to ask himself, could Daleney handle the weight of his burdens?

Daleney

Sam's huge hand felt warm underneath her fingers, and as she traced the pattern his veins made against his skin she continued, "I'm glad I'm not alone tonight"

She peeked up at him and was glad to see his face soften with warmth at her words. He was so handsome with that strong jawline, long hair, and those hazel eyes. Abruptly she remembered the white glow that had emitted from those same eyes earlier that night. She must've imagined it, she'd never been stabbed before, who knew what the brain went through when an injury like that was sustained. Still she made a mental note to talk to Dean about it.

He smiled softly, almost shyly, and said, "You should rest," he absently ran a hand through his hair, she liked when he did that, "try to get as much sleep as you can. You can sleep in my room, I'll take the room right next to you"

"Are you sure it's okay that I sleep in here? I can move, it's totally-" she started, but he interrupted with a squeeze of the hand he still held in his, and a warm grin, "Yes I'm sure", Sam said as he draped a blanket over her, "Sleep tight, I'll be right next door if you can't sleep"

As he leaned over her to turn out the light on the bedside table Daleney could almost feel the heat of his body, smell the deep, clean scent of his skin. It had been a long time since she'd been this close to a nice, handsome guy. With all the shifts she was working at the bar and the voodoo shop, a nice date was hard to come by. And with her last relationship having ended so badly she hadn't been about to walk, arms open, into a binding, all strings attached, relationship.

Sighing out a thanks that quickly turned to a long yawn, she stretched her arms above her head. She didn't miss Sam scanning his eyes down her body, and she briefly flushed with warmth under his gaze. His own face colored slightly, and he kept his eyes on his hands as he muttered a goodnight and left the room.

He really was cute, and so big! The way he tended to her wounds told her he was gentle and kind and he could care for her. She felt safe here, with him. She felt sleep pulling at the corners of her eyes again, and gave herself to it with a smile.

As she drifted off, she began to dream.

She dreamt about Sam, smiling down at her, stroking her hair. They were in a small park, filled with leafy trees and blooming flowers, complete with several families milling about in the late afternoon sun. She and Sam were sitting together on a big fluffy blanket nestled into the green grass. Sam sat with his long legs stretched out before him, leaning back on his hands. She sat close to him, her legs across his lap, her torso settled into the crook of his arm. It felt so right to be here with him like this, grinning at each other like two teenagers on their first date.

The sun played in his blue-green eyes as he brushed an unruly curl behind her ear. He skimmed his fingers down her cheek and slowly drew his hand to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer to him. His eyes fell from her eyes to her lips, and back again as he whispered, "You are so beautiful…" She could tell he wanted to kiss her, and suddenly realized she very much wanted to kiss him too.

Sam leaned further in, their foreheads almost touching, and her hand automatically went to his chest, to draw up those firm planes and curl around his shoulder. "Kiss me…" she said, her voice barely above a whisper, not sure if her words were a question or a demand. As his lips drew mere millimeters away from hers, she realized it was definitely a demand; she yearned to feel his lips moving against hers. The thought sent a delicious shiver of excitement through her, and his fingers brushing the back of her neck prolonged the tingles.

Just as she felt the barest brush of his lips against hers, promising to bloom into a sweet, searing kiss, the dream changed.

She was back in the bunker, in Sam's room, settled into his warm cozy bed. Soft, inky darkness made cast the room into shadow. The open door let in soft light from the hallway, allowing her to distinguish the features of the figure in front of her. It was Sam; he sat on the edge of her bed, but something was off about him. He was Sam, but he wasn't Sam. Recognition fired in her brain as his demeanor clicked with memories in the back of her mind.

"You came back" She said, a smile on her lips.

His own lips quirked into a soft smile, "I did" he trailed off, and looked down, almost guilty, "I couldn't stay away" he said as he raised his eyes to meet hers.

He seemed to be unconsciously leaning towards her, his eyes studying her face with a focused attention that made her blush

"There's something about you…I can't seem to control myself…" He trailed off as he slowly raised his hand, as if any sudden movements would spook her, and trailed the backs of his fingers along her cheekbones. The touch was so light she barely felt it, but as she leaned into his touch, he got bolder, moving his fingers to her jawline. As she felt his touch feather across her skin, it sent incredible shivers shooting down her spine.

"You don't have to control yourself" she said, her voice unconsciously soft, as if she were now the one that might scare him off. He leaned in further, and as his fingers twined in her hair he let out a soft groan.

"I would like to…I'm not sure how to proceed…I've never done this…May I…" his words trailed off as gaze broke from her eyes to her lips and down to his lap as he colored slightly.

"Kiss me?" She questioned softly, lifting his face back up to hers "Would you like to kiss me?"

His heated gaze met hers and a responding flare of warmth roared to life deep within her body, "Yes I would like that very much" he answered, his own voice soft and husky.

She tilted her face up to his ever so slightly, and in answer his fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her lips towards his. Her breath sped up as he took control and pulled her flush against his torso. He cradled her face with both his hands, as his thumbs brushed over her lips his eyes took in her eyes feature up close.

"Please…" she breathed out, desperate for his mouth moving over hers.

"Anything you wish" he replied, and he truly seemed to mean it. He would do anything for her, she could sense it. And right now, she was about to get exactly what she wanted. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her breath hitched. She could feel his hot breaths fanning over lips, could feel his hands in her hair pulling her closer.

She felt his lips brush just over hers…..

And she jolted out of sleep, her body tight with tension and brimming with unsated pleasure. Her hair stuck to her neck as small beads of sweat pooled down her shoulders. She huffed out a shaky breath, struggling to collect herself, and pushed her hair off her neck. Two wet dreams of Sam in one night? It really had been too long…

She felt the sharp pang of coiled up lust in her body and swiped the sheets off her heated skin. As she did, Sam's musky, delicious scent blossomed from the covers, permeating her already foggy brain with fresh arousal. How was she face him with these steamy dreams in the back of her mind? He was the epitome of everything she found sexy about a man, and somehow she found it even more erotic that she was having dreams about him while sleeping in his bed. At the rate her brain was dredging up fantasies, she would be getting no sleep.

_Oh boy, _She thought, falling back into the sheets, _tomorrow is gonna be a _long_ day…._


	3. A Place to Call Home

The Bunker; Lebanon, Kansas

Daleney

Enjoying a languid stretch, devoid of any traces of pain for the first time in days, Daleney relished in the pleasantly smooth motion of her muscles shifting as she slowly rose to consciousness. The night before had brought more hazy dreams of midnight conversations with that strange, different side of Sam. In her dreams he asked her question after question about herself, as if he were hungry to learn everything there was to know about her. Though when she woke she had trouble remembering the details of their conversations, she liked their talks; she found the timbre of his voice calming to her. After the first few dreams in which they had conversed, dream- Sam had become more comfortable with her, stretching out his long legs in front of him as he lay half propped up beside her. She'd slip into a deeper sleep than she'd ever had while his fingers stoked her hair. She was so frustrated that she couldn't remember more, the details shimmering just out of her minds reach. Still every night she breathlessly anticipated going to sleep, hoping for another tantalizing, frustrating dream.

Loosing a giant yawn, she placed her feet on the floor of the room she had just moved into after insisting with Sam that she didn't have to occupy his anymore. Though it was bare and simple, she liked it, in large part because there were no noisy neighbors or street sounds like in her apartment in New Orleans. Finally she could get some peace and quiet.

Daleney glanced at the clock, startled that it read 10:03 am. She hadn't meant to sleep in so late, especially not when she had big plans for today. Sam had promised to help her improve her gun skills, and she was grateful. When her father had died on a hunt her mother had sheltered her against the world of hunting, yet even as a teenager she had felt an inexplicable pull towards it, though now that pull was towards the two men that were so versed in that world. And not taking up hunting had turned into a way to not deal with her father's absence. So she'd decided it was about time she was able to properly protect herself against the monsters that her father had died fighting against.

Not wanting to waste any more time, she hastily rooted through the bag of clothes and toiletries she'd gotten from her apartment back in Louisiana, where she'd also visited her sister in the hospital, driving the amazing, and likely priceless, vintage motorcycle stored in the bunkers huge garage. Her sister was on the mend, slowly but surely getting better, much like Daleney herself. They'd spent hours sitting cross legged, knees touching, going through old pictures of their parents, reliving memories from their childhood. It was the closest they'd been in years, and strangely it was all thanks to Rebecca being kidnapped by a crazy shifter.

Smiling slightly to herself, Daleney found what she was looking for, and slipped on a pair of faded blue jeans and one of the gigantic flannels Sam had loaned her, which she knotted at the hip to ensure she could successfully maneuver her small body in the oversized cloth. When that was done she padded in muffled sock feet to Sam's room to check if he was awake. She was anxious to get started as soon as possible, having checked out the bunker's formidable gun range the day before, and thankfully Sam's room was right next to hers.

She found Sam engrossed in one of the bunker's numerous weighty tomes, brow creased with focus, his large body hunched over the ancient text. From the look of the writing on the pages it was something Greek. He was so invested in the book that he hadn't noticed her appear in the doorway, so she knocked softly to alert him of her presence. When he saw her a warm smile lit up his face, and she found herself helplessly drawn to smile back.

"Morning sleepy head," he teased, a grin slipping into place as he closed the book in his lap with a weighty _thup_.

"Morning," she said back, tucking the toes of her left foot behind the ankle of her right, casually leaning against the door frame, "I didn't mean to sleep in so late, I guess I needed the shut eye" she trailed off with a secret smile. _And the late night dreams…_

Sam threw the book onto his bed as he rose, "Well now that you're up, how about a firing lesson?"

_Pop! Pop! Pop!_

The satisfying clap of the 9 mm pistol she'd borrowed from Sam echoed in the lofty firing range as her finger pulled the trigger again and again. She was really getting the hang of firing a gun, the bullets lodging firmly in the red circle of the paper dummy 50 feet away.

"Good!" Sam's raised voice cut through the gun fire, making Daleney lower her weapon and face him, his impressed grin contagious, "you're hitting the target with almost a hundred percent accuracy, that's crazy awesome" he praised, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, "I'm impressed"

"Thanks," she said with a laugh, "I guess I'm a natural" she replied a bit sarcastically.

"You just might be" Sam said, not at all sarcastic, eying her, "I haven't seen shooting skills like that in awhile…" he trailed off, seeming to be in deep thought, "But how's your hand to hand combat?" he asked.

Apprehensive, she frowned as she answered, "Uh…non-existent"

A boyish smile graced his features, and Daleney found herself wondering with happy anticipation what that smile could hold, until his voice broke the silence, "Let's find out"

And that's how, 10 minutes later, Daleney found herself circling Sam, her fists up, ready to block any blow he might direct at her. As they circled each other he gave her tips, how to block a torso jab, or where to land an effective face punch. She soaked up his every word, her eyes wary on his own fists, yet instilled with the assurance that he would never hurt her. And finally, after countless instructions, his open palm flew out, headed towards her neck, and she blocked it easily with a diagonally placed forearm. He seemed impressed before quickly swinging a closed fist towards her torso. She reciprocated by catching his fist in her hand and swinging his arm down at an awkward angle so that he had to twist his body to avoid a broken arm. "Good" he huffed out through grated breaths, and she felt pride and confidence flood her veins and color her cheeks before she released him.

On and on their sparring went until they were both sweaty and out of breath, still circling, each with bruises in differing states of formation blooming on various body parts. She had to admit that seeing this side of Sam was a little terrifying; he was lethal and had knowledge of countless ways to maim and kill. And yet, as his chest heaved and his molten gaze fixed on her she felt an answering heat of the delicious, tingly variety roar to life within her, until it felt like her whole body was on fire. It was equal parts intimidating and, well, hot. _He_ was hot. There was no use denying it, and maybe it was because of that small thought echoing in the back of her mind that when Sam's big hands grasped her waist, and one of his long legs came behind her knee to direct her in an efficient tackle, sweeping her to the floor, she didn't really fight all too much.

As her back hit the ground and the breath left her chest with a slight sigh, Sam positioned his strong forearms beside her head, bringing his face close to hers. She felt his warm breath tickle her neck as he rasped out, "We'll have to work on your tackle defense", though he didn't seem too interested in teaching anymore.

Their eyes locked, and from this close she could see the flecks of gold and blue in his green eyes. She could practically feel the rough stubble of his jawline rubbing so sweetly against her jaw, her neck, and even lower, against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs…_mmm_…

Her eyes darted to his lips, so close she could almost taste them, warm and soft, against hers. She wanted to catch his lips in hers, to nibble and tease and swirl her tongue against his. She found herself leaning up closer to him and amazingly he leaned down a little lower, as if to fulfill her desires.

Just at that moment Dean's footsteps echoed down the hallway, announcing his impending presence. They had just enough time to hop up out of their compromising position and get into their makeshift fighting stances. Their breaths were still coming fast when Dean walked into the room, humming some Metallica song and nibbling on a piece of pie he'd picked up that day. No doubt he was already halfway through the damn thing.

Daleney's lips quirked at that strangely endearing thought. Lots of food, great company, good water pressure; if she wasn't careful, this place could start to feel like a real home, not just some place she kept her stuff and passed out at, exhausted between doing research for the boys cases and going back and forth between the Bunker and New Orleans to shuttle more of her stuff here.

A sudden bolt of longing so fierce it nearly made her sway on her feet hit her in the very center of her being, and it occurred to her that she might greatly desire a home of her own. As Dean announced that the reason for his visit was to show her how to handle herself in a knife fight, and started in on different knife holding techniques, demonstrating between bites, she bit her lip and cast a sideways glance at both of the boys that had opened their home to her. Yes, she'd very much like to call this place her home, here with them.

Much more than she was ready to admit aloud.

Sam

Leaning back against his headboard, Sam glanced up from the dusty pages in front of him, casting another stealthy look at the woman curled up on the other side of his bed. Sam tried not to stare, but it was hard not to. She looked so peaceful, so comfortable here with him, and he found that he rather liked that she was felt so at home. She was sketching on a notepad they'd found in a supplies closet, absently twirling a curled strand of rich, dark hair that had escaped the loose bun coiled at her nape, her bright amber eyes flicking up to Sam's face every so often. He pretended not to notice, but curiosity got the better of him, and as he set aside the book he'd been pretending to read between sneaking glances at her, he asked, "What are you drawing?"

A playful grin bloomed on her lips, and Sam attempted to ignore what that did to his pulse as she replied, "You'll see soon enough," her gaze flickered back up to meet his and her grin unfolded into a full smile, "Call it a surprise for someone's upcoming birthday that they neglected to tell me about" she teased as she tucked the colored pencil she'd been using behind her ear.

Sam felt shock infuse his features briefly before he managed to sputter out, "How did you find out?!"

She laughed, the sound tinkling and pleasant to his ears. He made a note to make her laugh more often. "Take a guess," she replied, her eyes glittering "Here's a hint, he loves pie, is a shameless flirt and is very willing to give up information after being plied with alcohol"

_Dean_, Sam thought with a small tinge of exasperation, though he found himself smiling back at her. He liked that she'd asked Dean about him, it made his chest tight in a way he couldn't quite explain. With a sigh he ran a hand through his hair, replying, "Well the secret is out now; just promise nothing huge, okay?"

Grinning at him like a Cheshire cat, she spoke in that whiskey voice he was starting to wanna hear more of, "I can neither confirm nor deny…" she trailed off, her tone mockingly ominous, becoming bright again when she continued "But I can say that there will be gifts"

"Gifts?" Sam replied, unable to hide his blatantly worried tone, "What kind of gifts?"

"Nope," she said pressing her lips together, "No more hints for you, future birthday boy"

"Oh come on," Sam replied, half-unintentionally flashing her a look he would only admit to himself was characteristically reminiscent of pleading puppy dog eyes, "Just one more little hint?"

She sucked in a breath, her own eyes going soft as she gazed at him. Sam felt warmth sizzle in his chest, and without thinking he reached a hand out to brush his fingers across her cheekbone, a delicious heat sparking on his fingers. He watched a gentle blush color her cheeks as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, her amber eyes meeting his. He could almost imagine that her thoughts mirrored the heat sizzling within his own, or had he fantasized the molten look she flashed him? She glanced down, her eyes fixing onto his lips, a rosy glow flushing across her cheekbones as her little pink tongue licked at her bottom lip. His eyes instantly flashed there, and a bolt of something hot and fierce coursing through his veins.

Coherent thoughts abruptly fled Sam's mind as an almost palpable attraction crackled between them. Was it just him that felt this connection in the heavily laden air? As if she'd heard his thoughts, her eyes flew back up to meet his, gazing at him with heated intention. His own eyes swept down her body of their own accord, cataloging the fall of his blue flannel that graced her slim shoulders, the neck open a few buttons the reveal the shadows and contours of her collarbone and below, her strong lithe arms and small gentle hands that lay in her lap. He liked her in his clothes much more than he was would admit out loud. His eyes fell to her toned torso, following the swells and dips of her curves, encased in blue plaid, splotched with red – wait, _red?_

The warmth that whispered through his body turned to icy cold panic as worry overtook that delicious heat. He had no time to mourn its loss as he automatically checked her over for other injuries. Not wanting to alarm her too much, he spoke softly, "You're bleeding".

Confusion flashed across her face, followed quickly by a frown of annoyance tinged with pain. He himself frowned; he wanted to see her smiling again, or gazing up at him, heat shimmering in her eyes.

"Ah damn," she murmured as she pressed the wound tentatively, her fingers shaking a bit as they became stained red with her blood.

"Here, let me take a look," Sam said, gently rolling up her tank top, surveying the bleeding, "We'll need more gauze, Dean should have some in his room" he said absently, more focused on how much better her injuries looked. The gash, the bruising, it all looked weeks healed instead of days. Even the cut itself looked better; having progressed past being healing and pink at the edges, the skin there the same smooth tan as the rest of her body. _Strange…_

"I can get it," she replied, easing out from under his hands, swinging her legs up and off the bed, preparing to rise.

"No, no-" Sam started, but she interrupted him, waving a hand in the air to cease his protests as she crossed the room on steady feet, "Sam really, it's cool, I can get it. You've already done enough to take care of me. Please let me help" she finished with those big, bright eyes looking pleadingly at him.

Hell if those molten eyes wouldn't be the death of him. He grumbled an agreement in response, and in return was graced with a smile that lit up her face as she went out the door. Dean's room wasn't far from his, she shouldn't be long, so Sam started setting out supplies to attend to her wounds. While he did so, his gaze fell on the sketchpad Daleney had been using; the image was turned face down so that he couldn't see it. He burned with curiosity, suddenly dying to know what she'd been sketching. Trying to justify sneaking a peak, he reasoned that she wasn't finished yet, so whatever he was might not be the finished product. That wasn't _really_ running the surprise, right?

With that logic, he reached out and turned the sketchpad over, surveying the picture before him. It was a rough, but very accurate sketch of his face. Everything was expertly done, from the fall of his hair, to the cut of his jaw and the lines of his mouth. He could see what the finished product would be, and for a moment he marveled at her skill, wondering if she'd taught herself this craft.

And then he saw the eyes. For a minute he thought his own eyes were playing tricks on him; he even rubbed his thumb over the image, seeing if it was real. But it was, she'd really drawn it there. Staring up at Sam, etched into a portrait of his own face, were two eyes, colored a bright, jarring blue, so alive they almost glowed, seeming to pin his gaze in a fierce stare. Some emotion he couldn't name rose up in him, so strong it nearly stole his breath away. He absently realized part of what he felt was a longing, a soul deep longing burning behind the confusion and fear. With a lump in his throat he set the paper aside.

Whatever his rolling emotions meant, Sam knew one thing for sure; those eyes were sure as hell not his.

Daleney

Shuffling down the hallway to Dean's room, Daleney tried to push away the fresh wave of apprehension that arose in her mind at her unexpected plan to speak to Dean without arousing Sam's suspicion. It was true that she wanted to help, and Sam had already done so much for her, but retrieving some gauze was not the only reason for her visit to Dean's room now.

Reaching his doorway, she hesitated for a moment before she knocked, seeing him laying on his bed with his eyes closed, Bad Company pouring out of his headphones as he bobbed his head to the music. She regretted disturbing him when he looked so peaceful, but she needed answers, and now was a good a time as any to get them.

Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she knocked softly a few times. Dean's green eyes snapped open and focused on her, a slight upwards twitch of his lips an indication that he was glad to see her.

"Hey shortstop," Dean said as he removed his headphones, "Whats up?"

She smiled at him, then gestured to her side splaying the red soaked fabric as she replied, "My cut started bleeding, would you have more gauze I could use?"

"Of course, lemme see it…"Dean trailed off as he went full nest mother mode and checked, then rechecked her injury, all the while muttering about Sam's fix up job on her side. She tried to stifle her grin as he retrieved his own stash of medical supplies.

While he sifted through ankle wraps and disinfectant wipes, Daleney tried to muster up the courage to say what she'd really come here to say. She would've chickened out if not for a brief memory of that strange night she'd found the boys hadn't flashed through her mind.

Studying her hands, she spoke softly, "Hey Dean, can I ask you something?" She felt his worried gaze fix on her face, though she kept her eyes on her hands, knowing she couldn't meet his gaze yet without losing all her resolve. After his affirmation for her to ask, she swallowed thickly and continued, "The night you and your brother found my sister, when the shifter stabbed me, I thought I saw something weird….with Sam"

She was all too aware that he'd become still as she'd spoken, and she chanced a peek up at him. His jaw was set in a hard line as he clenched his teeth, his eyes steely and focused resolutely on her. She continued, "His eyes, I thought they flashed the bright white before I passed out," studying his face before she continued, choosing her words carefully, "Dean, I imagined that, right?"

She knew she was grasping at straws for some kind of explanation, but she had to ask. She held her breath waiting for Dean's reply. He stared at her for a few long moments before gripping the retrieved gauze in his fingers. She thought she saw a flash of guilt in his eyes, so powerful it nearly made her gasp, though he carefully recomposed his features a moment later. Finally he replied, "Of course kiddo, when you sustain an injury like that your brain goes haywire, all kinds of chemicals are dumped into your system"

She huffed out a breath, and grasped onto his explanation like a drowning woman to a life raft, "Yeah, yeah that's what I figured, but I had to ask" she met his gaze again and continued, "I was afraid that I was going crazy…" she trailed off, feeling the fear and uncertainty resurface in her eyes.

Dean's warm palm came to rest on her shoulder, and she was glad for that anchor to the present to keep her from slipping into memories of the past. Dean's eyes took on a fierce sheen as her replied, "Hey, you don't have to be afraid of monsters like that anymore. You've got two of the best teachers to help you learn how to hunt, and we protect our own"

She smiled at his resolved expression, believing those words wholeheartedly. She met his eyes and replied with all the sincerity she could show him, "Thank you Dean, really, for everything"

He flashed her a smile that crinkled his eyes, a real smile, and gave her shoulder a squeeze before handing her the gauze and making light of their chick flick moment. She laughed along with him as he bashed Sam's medical skills once more and sent her with all the gauze she could carry to get stitched up, but as she started back to Sam's room all the doubts she'd tried to dispel came rushing back to her.

What had she seen that night? Could it really be explained away by her brain chemistry or was it something more. And what about her dreams? There were so many questions she didn't have answers too, and between her fevered dreams, and her own slipping grip on reality she couldn't help but feel like a boat set adrift on the ocean, trying to combat the battering waves.

As she rounded the corner back into Sam's room, greeted by his warm, gentle smile, she suddenly realized that he was her anchor, her safe place, and she wanted to be that for him too. Feeling gratitude and a hint of sparking chemistry settle in her chest she presented the gauze to him with a triumphant smile. As they grinned at each other, she decided that if these boys would have her, she'd gladly make this place her home.

And maybe, just maybe in this new home she'd find out the secrets behind all of her unanswered questions.


End file.
